Homecoming

Homecoming

When Naomi saw that Ruth was determined to go with her, she said nothing more.

So the two of them continued on their journey. When they came to Bethlehem, the entire town was excited by their arrival. “Is it really Naomi?” the women asked.

“Don’t call me Naomi (pleasant),” she responded. “Instead, call me Mara (bitter), for the Almighty has made life very bitter for me. I went away full, but the LORD has brought me home empty. Why call me Naomi when the LORD has caused me to suffer and the Almighty has sent such tragedy upon me?”

So Naomi returned from Moab, accompanied by her daughter-in-law Ruth, the young Moabite woman. They arrived in Bethlehem in late spring, at the beginning of the barley harvest. (Ruth 1:18-22)

     It was a small house, simple but adequate: one large room on a dusty street. Its red-tiled roof just one of hundreds in a very poor neighborhood on the outskirts of a Mexican village. But it was comfortable, and Lupe and her daughter, Angel, had done what they could to add color to the gray walls and warmth to the dirt floor: a calendar here, a faded photograph of a relative over there, a wooden crucifix. And the furnishings, like the house, were modest, too – a pallet on the other side of the room, a washbasin and a wood-burning stove.

    Lupe’s husband had died when Angel was just a baby. So, the young mother, stubbornly refusing the advances of many suitors, got a job and set out to raise her little girl by herself. And now, some sixteen (16) years later, the worst years were over, or at least that’s what she thought.  Lupe’s salary as a maid may have afforded few luxuries, but it was a reliable job and paid well enough to provide for her and Angel’s food and clothing. And now Angel was old enough to get a job so she could help out.

     Some said Angel got her independence from her mother, but she resisted the traditional ideas of marrying young, like her mom, and raising a family. Not that she couldn’t have had her pick of husbands, mind you. Her olive brown skin and big, brown eyes kept a steady stream of potential boyfriends always at the door. And she had an infectious way of throwing her head back and filling the room with laughter. She also had that rare magic that some women have, like my wife, which makes every man feel like a king just by being near them. But it was her curiosity that made her keep all the men at arm’s length – at least for a time.

     Angel talked often about going to the “Big City.” She dreamed of trading in her dusty, grimy neighborhood for the exciting streets and bright city lights. Of course, the thought absolutely terrified her mother, and Lupe was quick to remind Angel of the harshness and brutality of big-city streets. “People don’t know you there. Jobs are scarce, and life is cruel. And besides, if you went there, what would you do for a living?” Lupe knew exactly what Angel might have to do for a living.

     That’s why her heart broke when she woke up one morning to find her daughter’s empty bed. Lupe knew in an instant where her daughter had gone. She also knew what she had to do to find her. So, Lupe quickly threw some clothes in a bag, gathered up all of her money, and ran out of the house. And on her way to the bus stop she entered a drugstore to get one last thing: pictures. Lupe sat in the photograph booth, closed the curtain and spent all she could on pictures of herself. Then, with her purse full of small black-and-white photographs, she boarded the next bus to the “Big City” – Mexico City.

     Lupe knew Angel had no way of earning money. She also knew that her daughter was too stubborn to give up on her dreams of big-city life. Lupe knew that when pride meets hunger, a human will do things that … well … were unthinkable before. Knowing this, Lupe began her search. Bars, hotels, nightclubs, any place with a reputation for street-walkers. She went to every last one of them. And at each place she left her picture. Pictures were taped on a bathroom mirror, or tacked to a hotel bulletin board, or even fastened to a corner phone booth. And on the back of each photo she wrote a note. But it wasn’t long before both her money and the pictures ran out. Weary and heartbroken, Lupe put her head in her hands and wept as the bus began its long journey back to the small village.

     It was a few weeks later that Angel descended the hotel stairs. Her face, once so young and full of life, was now tired and lifeless. Her brown eyes no longer danced with youth, but spoke of pain and fear. Her laughter, which once filled a room, was broken and empty. Her dream of big-city life had become her worst nightmare, and her heart ached a million times over to trade those countless beds for her little pallet at home.

     As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Angel’s eyes noticed a familiar face. She looked again, and there on the lobby mirror was a small black-and-white picture of her mother. Angel’s eyes burned and her throat tightened as she walked across the room and removed the small photo. And written on the back of the picture was her mother’s note: “Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, it doesn’t matter. Please come home.” And, she did.

     The story of Ruth in our text is many things, but at its core it’s the story of a believer coming home. Naomi has been a long way from home, and even farther from God. Now, we find Naomi coming home, coming back to God. In fact, you can almost hear Naomi saying, “What a waste of time! I followed my husband and my two sons into the desert on some wild goose-chase and look what it’s got me? They’re dead, and I’m alone. Terrific.”

     Then she thinks, “But I can go home. There’s certainly nothing keeping me here anymore. The promises of food and success have disappeared, just like my joy. And the dream of a life that I thought I would share forever with a husband and two sons has died with them. Now, I’m all alone. But I can still go home. Yeah, I guess I’ll just turn around and go home. Lord, I’m coming home.”

     Ten years have passed since Naomi left Bethlehem-Judah with her husband and two sons. Now, a decade later, she’s coming home. But it’s a bittersweet homecoming.  The home and family she had in Bethlehem are just a distant memory.  She wonders about her return to a place where she has nowhere to live, no place to work and no one to come home to. Oh, she has Ruth alright, but it’s not the same. But, kind of like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, Naomi knows “There’s no place like home.” So, she turns her face for Bethlehem.

     A businessman was once asked by a reporter how he’d become so successful. He replied simply, “Good decisions.” Curious, the reporter asked, “But how did you learn to make good decisions?” The businessman answered, “Experience.” (He was a man of few words) Not satisfied, the reporter zeroed in on his subject, “Well, then, how did you get that experience?” “Bad decisions,” said the man. 

     Let’s face it. Naomi had made a bad decision when she left Bethlehem. But she wasn’t stuck. Instead, Naomi used her experience and bad decisions as a prompt to make a good decision – to go back home to the Bethlehem and God that she once knew. Bethlehem was in the land of Judah, which means “praise,” and Bethlehem was the place where God was glorified and honored. Naomi was returning to that place where God’s presence was very real. Moab, she remembered, beckoned with promise, but it proved nothing more than a mirage when she arrived. Bethlehem, on the other hand, was a place where God’s presence was palpable.

     Not that the famine, which drove Naomi away from God in the first place, did anything to make her feel God in a more personal way. But now, in the desert, God’s absence was overwhelming; kind of a suffocating darkness. A darkness that, with a little light, could be dispelled, but where’s the flashlight when you need one? And then, when you find it, you discover that the batteries are dead! Naomi had to get back to that place where she could be in God’s presence once again, and experience, first-hand, God’s loving-kindness.

     It’s kind of like when Jonah rebelled against God. Remember him? His experience was described as running “from the presence of the Lord.” (Jonah 1:3)  When God called him north, Jonah went as far south as he could, and then he jumped on a boat to get even farther away! A believer out of fellowship with God, like Naomi in Moab, or Jonah for that matter, can’t enjoy the presence of the Lord. But it’s not as if God’s left the building.

     Bethlehem literally means the “House of Bread,” and Naomi had heard through the grapevine that God had visited His people in Bethlehem and had given them bread.  Naomi had to smile and shake her head as she remembered her and her family leaving the “House of Bread” for a different kind of bread,“tastier” bread, bread that did not satisfy and, eventually, disappeared altogether. But Bethlehem was the place where God was meeting the needs of His people. It was the place where God was at work. It was the place of God’s provision. It was the place where Naomi knew she should be.

     But it’s hard to come home, isn’t it? Oh, the coming home part is easy enough, but what will happen to me when I return? Worse yet, how angry is God going to be when He sees me?  Just like a teenager, we’ve stayed out past curfew, broken the rules and crashed the car.  Now, Dad’s really going to be mad. Right? Wrong! You see, Satan has that argument down pat; he uses it all the time. You know the one, don’t you? “You’re a loser, you had your chance; you’ve really screwed up this time and you’ll never see Him at work in your life, ever again.” Or, “You’ve got one chance in this life and boy did you blow it!” Thing is, Satan’s a liar. Fact is, Satan’s the father of lies!  (John 8:44)

     Naomi knew that Bethlehem was a place of God’s people; a place of kindred spirits and like-minded souls. In fact, you can probably think of someone that used to be in church and their seat was never empty; kind of like they owned the pew. But now, that same person, or maybe even a family, is not only out of fellowship with God, but out of the fellowship of God. Don’t believe me? Prove it to yourself. Next Sunday, look around and see if you can’t spot an empty pew that was once occupied by Mr. or Ms. Dependable. (Oh. You won’t be there next Sunday? Sorry. My bad)

     When Naomi got home, the people who knew her were shocked to see her. “Is this our Naomi,” they said? Notice her answer: “Don’t call me Naomi; call me Mara.”  Naomi goes from “Mrs. Pleasant” to “Ms Bitter.” In one word, Naomi sums up the results and consequences of leaving God. But Naomi also discovered that even when she left God, He hadn’t left her. Somewhere, somehow, God confronts the believer away from home. In fact, Naomi tells everyone who runs out to meet her how God had brought her back by breaking her down. God knows how to get our attention, and He knows how to bring us back.

     Isn’t it interesting that Naomi comes home during the spring? Coincidence, I guess. It was barley harvest – about the same time as Passover. A time of first fruits; a time for starting over; a time for forgiveness; a time when new life comes to bloom. And it can be springtime for you, too. You can come home, you know.  You’ve seen the picture, haven’t you?  You know, the colored photographs of God you see plastered all over the place? And you’ve probably read your Father’s message on the back of it, haven’t you? Yeah, that one. The one that says:

     “Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve become, it doesn’t matter. Please come home.”

Grace,

Randy